


It's You

by counterheist



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, M/M, implied making up on the conference room table
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-31
Updated: 2010-05-31
Packaged: 2017-11-29 11:29:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/686462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/counterheist/pseuds/counterheist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/13943.html?thread=39924855#t39924855">From the kink meme</a>. Veneziano does it every time; steals Romano's significant others. When it appears to start happening with Spain, Romano breaks everything off before he can get hurt again. Spain does not appreciate this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's You

_We’re breaking up. It’s you._

__Spain had been listening intently at the latest World Meeting. For about three minutes. In the hour and twenty-six minutes since he had stopped, Spain had alternated between playing charades across the table with France, playing Hangman across the table with Portugal and playing solitaire under the table with his phone.

After the fifteenth loss, and coincidentally the fifteenth proposal by America that the world should build a giant crime-fighting hamburger to combat global warming and shitty economies ( _although only Japan would know that, as he was the only one who was listening_ ), Spain had decided to take a break from playing and check his email. One of his bosses had taught him how to do that, on his phone, after Spain had let slip that he’d gone six months without reading any of his messages.

Spain loved the colors of his flag, but they looked really weird on a person’s face.

When they weren’t on there in paint. Lots of people wore red and yellow face paint for football games; sometimes Spain did himself! Football was always really fun… he liked going to bars during the big matches and experiencing it all with his people. The rush of victory, the agony of… well, victory, since Spain won a lot. Not that he bragged about it or anything and oh! His email! Yes, right, the page had loaded and everything! Technology sure was something.

Three weeks of messages glared up at him. Ah. Right. _That_ was why he never checked his email; messages accumulated so quickly. One from his boss, one from Germany, another few from his boss, another twenty from the EU… He really hated having to sift through so many. Deciding that he could do that later, maybe when England was speaking, Spain jumped straight to the only message he knew he would care about; the one from Romano!

Strange. Usually Romano sent him more messages. Like _Let me into the house, you bastard!_ or _You left your toothbrush here. What do you think I am, your personal maid? Fuck no. I threw it out. You’d better not be late for dinner._ Romano was always so funny. There was never a dull moment with him.

But then Spain had clicked on the little envelope icon. He’d stared at the screen of the fast little Smartphone his government had given him, the one he usually used expressly to play games on, and for one precious moment he hadn’t understood.

_We’re breaking up. It’s you._

That moment came, and then it went.

Spain screamed.

The rest of the room hadn’t panicked, for a moment. The “ **What?!?** ” had spent most of its thunder waking the nations of the world up from their bored dreams. The subsequent “NO!!” and slide across the table, done by Spain in his unhappy confusion, were what caused the panic. For another moment, they thought he had gone insane again ( _Spain had been…_ interesting _for a few centuries. That was sure_ ). When they saw that he was just trying to get closer to Romano, the nations of the world let out a collective sigh of relief and muttered something about new love before attempting to leave to get something to drink.

Germany had taken that opportunity to adjourn the meeting, temporarily, so that the Kingdom of Spain could regain his sanity. And so the rest of them could have a nice long rest before coming back to listen to the robotic aspirations of the United States of America.

Spain tried to talk to Romano. Since when had they broken up ( _Well the message had been three weeks old…_ )? Why had Romano done something like that? Hadn’t they been happy? What had Spain done to deserve this?

Romano just sat in his chair. Maybe he clenched the arms a little more tightly than he really needed to, but he refused to look at or talk to Spain, and that was all Spain really cared about. “Romano? Please, what is this about?!”

Veneziano moved, from the seat next to his brother. Spain could tell, from the corner of his eye, that he had a strange expression on his face. It was probably because Spain was acting like a fool, but he was already aware of that so he didn’t care.

Apparently Romano did. In one motion he stood up and dragged Spain by the tie off of the conference table. With his other hand he stopped his brother from leaving, and in a heartbeat’s work he shoved Spain out of the almost empty room, before slamming the door behind him.

Leaving him alone in the large conference room. Alone with Veneziano.

“Ve, why are you acting so strangely?”

Romano set both of his hands on the table so he didn’t do anything drastic, and took a deep breath. “You two are probably fucking each other daily by now,” the image made him want to tear the table apart, “and I know I can’t do anything about it. But I’d expect you two to have the decency not to flaunt it in front of my face.”

Veneziano looked confused. “I’m confused… are you talking about Spain?”

“Who the fuck else could I be talking about?!”

There was a certain point when Veneziano would stop playing dumb. Romano was just waiting for him to reach it. “…Spain may be nice and handsome and wonderful, but I’m not sleeping with him. Ve, we just spend a lot of time together. Especially recently.”

Then why did he look so guilty? “Sure you do. Try _every day_. God, Veneziano, it’s always like this with you! You’re always stealing them!”

Maybe Romano had said a little more than he’d wanted to, but it had gotten Veneziano to the point of speaking plainly, and that was enough. “People aren’t _things_ Romano. They can’t be stolen like diamonds. They _leave_. For thousands of reasons.”

“They leave because you fucking throw yourself at them.”

Veneziano didn’t deserve to look that patient, that righteous. “Brother…”

It was quiet for a moment, before Romano spoke again. When he did, his voice was quiet too. He didn’t make eye contact with his little brother. “What about Germany?”

Veneziano’s face changed from imploring to masked in the blink of an eye. “Don’t be like that, Romano, ve, you know that’s different. Germany’s special.” He smiled a happy little reminiscing smile that didn’t quite make it to his eyes. “You look at him and you can see it too, can’t you? The resemblance is so strong…” He stepped next to his brother and looked out the window, far, far away.

But Romano had heard it all before. “That doesn’t even fucking matter anymore; Germany was the first! If he was so fucking special to you then why didn’t you stay together even for two months after we broke up?” Huh. He hadn’t acknowledged that relationship in ages. It was something Romano didn’t like talking about. He didn’t wonder why.

Veneziano’s voice was just as small as his brother’s. “…it’s not the same. Ve, he doesn’t remember back then. Maybe one day…”

“ _No_. Don’t give me that memory shit, Veneziano, or I swear I’ll… I’ll” He didn’t know what he would do. Because beyond everything else, beyond failed relationships and assholes and the creeping realization that Veneziano was fully aware of what he was doing, _every time_ , brothers were brothers.

But Veneziano just had to play the victim. “I don’t do it on purpose! They just come to me…”

That was a shitty reason and both brothers knew it. “You just don’t want me to be happy.”

“You’re just incapable of being happy! They leave you because you’re bitter and impossible, you always have been! _Ve_ nothing’s ever enough for you and you always complain and you’re so _mean_ , but I’ve figured it out, Romano.” It was like a train wreck. Each Italy felt outside of himself; they both knew where this was going to end but Veneziano had too much momentum to stop and Romano had too much dread to move a muscle. “It’s because you’re jealous of me. You wish you _were_ me, and eventually they figure it out too and maybe they realize that why go for the imitation when the real Italy’s right there, and—”

Romano hit his brother. Right in the eye. The left eye. It looked like it hurt, from the way he was doubling over in pain. Romano could feel a slight twinge in his own left eye, because whether Veneziano liked it or not they were _both_ Italy, and they were connected.

Or maybe it was just because he was crying.

He wanted to make a speech, say something about “You’re no brother of _mine_ ” and leave with his head held high, but he couldn’t. All Romano could do was stare at his brother, gasping on the floor, hands cradling his face. Veneziano was probably crying too, but that would pass. He’d get a bruise, Romano would get reprimanded for harming his angel of a brother for no apparent reason, and the world would keep turning.

The sun would rise again.

And Romano still wouldn’t be enough. Not enough to stop his grandfather from leaving. Not enough to stop his own people from leaving. Not enough to make that _one_ grand, intelligent speech at the moment when he knew that he was goddamn _justified_. Not enough to keep a partner happy. Not as happy as Veneziano could keep them, apparently.

He was _done_ with this shit.

Romano turned around and walked away, leaving his brother on the floor. He didn’t look back to see if Veneziano was getting up, swinging his own fist in retaliatory rage; that wasn’t Veneziano’s style. Maybe in a few months Romano would make sure to keep his doors locked.

He walked, but he didn’t get far; he turned the handle of the conference room door, only to see Spain blocking his only exit. Bastard. “You heard that?” Another one bites the dust. He’d probably rush over to Veneziano right away. That was probably why Veneziano was staying down; so he could be helped up. Romano hadn’t hit him _that_ hard.

Spain just grabbed Romano’s upper arms. “I need to talk to you.”

“So you didn’t hear.”

“Oh, no, I heard everything you two said, from when you first slammed the door shut. I was listening at the keyhole.”

Then why was he still there?

“Romano,” Spain tried to hug him, but Romano twisted his arms out just enough to keep Spain a good distance away. “You need to believe me when I say that I didn’t cheat on you.”

“Why?”

It was a fair question, so Spain gave it a fair answer. “Because I love you.” Romano didn’t blush, which meant he hadn’t gotten embarrassed, which meant he hadn’t really been listening. Which meant he probably still didn’t believe Spain.

“He’s telling the truth.” Both Spain and Romano turned to look at Veneziano, who had finally gotten up on his own. “He went places with me and let me cook him dinner but he never stopped talking about you.” He looked like he didn’t particularly care one way or the other.

Which Romano felt to be an insult, because damn it, _he_ cared. He cared when Veneziano traipsed in and decided to love every man and woman Romano had ever loved. Because somehow those men and women had always decided that Veneziano’s love was more, and Romano had been left alone. He hated being alone. When he was alone, all Romano had were his thoughts and those were no comfort.

Now Spain was pleading again. “I swear to God Romano, I was just trying to give you space. You seemed so angry lately, and I thought you were angry at me and I had to do something when you weren’t around and Veneziano kept coming up with things to do…”

Romano was silent. But he stopped actively pushing Spain away.

“…maybe there’s another way to solve this.” Veneziano was getting closer. His eye was bright red; in a few hours it would be dark, dark purple. Romano was proud of himself, even when he knew he shouldn’t be. “Romano, you like Spain. _I_ like you too Spain. Ve, you’re very nice! And I know you like Romano and you don’t _dislike_ me, so… we could always…” Veneziano let his voice taper out as his eyes made promises over his brother’s head.

Spain’s face lit up like a Barcelona afternoon. “Threesome?”

Romano wasn’t surprised. Spain hadn’t been the first. “…I’m leaving.” He threw off Spain’s hands and ran for the door.

“Romano, wait. It’s not what it sounds like.” Spain took a second to think about that, and realized it was kind of sort of exactly what it sounded like. “I mean, you know. It’s a twin thing… it’d be hot?” That probably wasn’t going to fly.

It didn’t. “We aren’t twins.”

“But you look so much alike with Veneziano’s cute face and your scowly face” maybe that wasn’t the way he should be phrasing things right now. Spain backtracked, “which is also incredibly cute” but apparently those weren’t the right words either as Romano’s only reply was hurling Spain’s phone, which had been lying on the table ( _still showing that message_ ), at Spain’s head before making another attempt at the door.

With Romano, grand gestures were needed. Statements of love had to be given more ardently, more frequently. He never believed anything unless it was shoved right in his face, repeatedly. And Spain had been fine with that, because he loved letting the whole world know that he was in love, not to mention who he was in love with.

Maybe that had been the wrong way to approach things. Maybe Spain should have been thinking about _why_ it had taken Romano weeks before he had trusted Spain’s declarations ( _“I love you!” “Sure.” “I love you!” “You’ve said.” “I love you!” “I bet.” “I love you!” “Move your arm, I’m trying to walk here.” “I love you!” “…it’s 3am.” “I love you, Romano.” “…I know.”_ ).

So instead of raising a hand after him again ( _Spain had learned his lesson_ ), instead of calling out for Romano to stay, to listen, Spain full-body tackled him to the ground and pinned his squirming boyfriend under his larger weight. Yes. His boyfriend. They were still going out, because like hell had Spain ever agreed to any breaking up. Romano just had to _realize_ that.

“Get the fuck off of me Spain!”

Spain concentrated on stopping Romano’s legs from moving. This was the most danger his vital regions had been in in a long time; Romano was worth putting them on the line for, but no one was going to be happy if they got past whatever-the-hell this was and _they_ didn’t work anymore… “Not until you promise to stay and listen to me.”

“I promise.”

“You’re lying.”

“No I’m not.”

“He is.”

Romano would have told his brother to shut up if he could manage anything more than incoherent screams of rage. Spain still understood. “Veneziano… I think you should leave.”

“What?” “ _What?_ ”

If he wasn’t so concerned about Romano crushing him, all this writhing would have been taking Spain to a very nice place. “Just go.”

Veneziano left, and closed the door behind him.

Spain waited a full minute before speaking. “While I still think it would be incredibly hot—” wisely, Spain cut himself off. Romano had finally gone still. Still in that way he went when something made him so angry that he stopped talking about it and looked the other way when his mafia killed it in a back alley. “I wasn’t cheating on you with Veneziano. I was just trying to give you some space because you seemed really unhappy lately; I didn’t realize that was because I was spending so much time with your brother.”

Romano tried to punch him again, and Spain knew he was listening. “You should have.”

“Yeah, I probably should. But I didn’t because I was too busy thinking about you.” Spain was a romantic country; everybody said so. At the moment, he just felt like a desperate country, but he drew upon every reserve of eloquence and allure he had to try and convince Romano he loved him, that he had never stopped. It was probably the hardest thing he’d ever had to do. “I love you, Romano. And I’ll keep saying it until you hear me. I love you, I picked you and I’ll keep picking you, no matter how much you think I’m going to leave you for Veneziano or anyone else.”

Romano tried to hit him again, and this time his fist connected with Spain’s head.

But it didn’t really hurt. “Y-you bastard. I don’t forgive you.”

Personally, Spain didn’t think there was anything to forgive. But he wasn’t going to say anything like that now; he could have tact _too_ , thank you. “Just give me another chance, Roma. Please.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“I love you.”

“Fuck off.”

“The only person I want to be fucking is you.”

Romano stopped struggling. “…why?”

Spain thought about what he could say. He decided on the truth. “I’m not sure. All I know is that I do.”

“Prove it.”

“I will. Every single day. If you’ll—”

“I’ll let you. But only because I’m so fucking good to you.”

Spain smirked. Everything was going to be okay. Crisis averted, he decided to take advantage of their position on the floor ( _Roma had been ignoring him for so long!_ ) and ground his hips down against Romano’s in a hard circle. This time, not in any way to stop Romano from squirming. It was more of an invitation, really. “We’ve got half an hour until the conference starts up again…”

\- - - - -

The clock was blinking just past one in the morning. Romano hadn’t been able to sleep. The day had been too much, too fast, and his mind wouldn’t let him rest. Instead, it played out every scene from the afternoon in minute detail, over and over.

It was just as he was remembering Veneziano’s words about Germany again that he heard the voice at the door. “Brother…?” There was no knock; their house must be really quiet if Romano could hear just the whisper. Maybe he was hearing things.

He was; he was hearing his brother’s voice. Veneziano took the silence as acceptance and quietly tiptoed into his older brother’s room before slipping under the sheets of his bed and joining him. “Is this okay?”

Romano tried to keep his voice neutral. “You tell me.”

Veneziano breathed out a tiny little “ve.” If that was all he had to say, Romano was throwing him out and giving him a matching set of shiners.

“I’m sorry.” He meant it. Romano could tell, because they were _both_ Italy and they were connected.

“That’s not enough.”

“I don’t do it on purpose; at least, ve, I think I don’t.”

Romano huffed into his pillow. “What matters is that you do it.”

“Forgive me?”

This was his chance for revenge. This was his chance to tear his little brother down, for once the victor. Or maybe this was his chance to forgive, for once to be the bigger man instead of sneaking conniving Romano. Or maybe this was his chance to turn around and ask his brother what was going on in his head. Why he did what he did, what he thought and what he felt and maybe offer up his own terrible twisted not-enough feelings so that Veneziano could see that they were real and maybe say something to make them go away. Like ‘You’re fine how you are’ or ‘You’re just as much Italy as I am’ because those were two of the myriad of things that Romano had always wanted to hear.

“Just go to sleep.”

**Author's Note:**

> That was sappier than a maple tree. And angstier than… something angsty. So. I started this with the full intention of writing the whole series of events [Romano gets Spain, Veneziano tries to steal Spain and _then_ there is family fighting and Romano-choosing]. So much for that.
> 
> About Germany: it seemed like a good reason for Romano to hate him. I’d hate a boyfriend that left me for my sibling, frankly.
> 
> About Veneziano: he ain’t all bubbles and sunshine. But what a time to pick to reveal that you’ve understood your brother’s reactions all along: “hey bro, been hitting on your man, btw, know about your inferiority complex, think it’s kind of pathetic g2g bye.” He’s not all super villain here, he still asks for forgiveness. But he’s hardly blameless. Yeah.


End file.
